Years and Tears
by MorbidbyDefault
Summary: Molly is betrothed to a young and dashing nobleman, much to her dismay. When she meets a young, dark and clever man, she instantly falls for him, and he for her. However, how will the cards unfold when truths are revealed? Rating is for future events.
1. Chapter 1

Fic idea was brought to me by Lasergirl77. I am excited for this challenge, it's my first time period fic. So, hm, little background tidbits tat help, that i may not mention: the year is 1895, because what other year would I pick? ;) um, Molly is an assistant to the undertaker, even if she does all the work, just because women weren't really allowed those professional titles yet. Um...Sherlock is, well, Sherlock...with a minor character change, that being he superbly wants Molly. Lol. Of course. Anyway, hope you all enjoy it.

I do not own any of the characters in this story, all places are either invented by the creators or are real places, none of which I own. Basically, it boils down to I'm just writing a fanfiction.

Enjoy!

Years and Tears

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They had been betrothed since she was fifteen. Molly hadn't even met her future husband until she turned eighteen, and even then, it was a brief moment. Yes, he was tall and fairly handsome. Yes, he was a lord. And yes, he was one of the most successful young noblemen in all of London. But no, Molly did not love him, and no, she did not want to marry him. She loved another.

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Molly Hooper, a rather peculiar young lady, would much rather have filled her time with books, and studying the twists and turns of human muscles, organs, and veins. It was not, however, proper for a young lady to think on such gruesome things, and her mother scolded her constantly for choosing to become the assistant to the town's undertaker, Michael Stamford. Ah, her mother. Or rather, stepmother. Molly had never particularly warmed to the woman, even when her father first introduced them. Her mother had died giving birth to her would-be younger brother, George. Sadly, they had lost them both. She was close to her father, being his only family left. That is, until he brought her home from a trip across the country.

Molly's new mother was a snobbish lady, consorting with the highest of aristocrats in all of London. She insisted on dressing Molly in the finest gowns and dresses, despite the young girl's protests. It was on her fifteenth birthday that Molly was told she was to marry Lord Augustus Houghton. This young noble was nine years her senior, and was already deemed one of the most successful and celebrated young earls of this great time. He owned several acres of land, all tilled and tended to by the vast amount of workers he employed. Molly hadn't reacted well.

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''But I don't want to marry anyone! I want to attend university, I want to study pathology!" Young Molly stomped her foot in front of her stepmother, who looked up, smiling in deflection at the staring people. She tugged her stepdaughter away to a corner by the crux of her arm, and sneered at her disapprovingly.

''Molly, how many times must we go over this? You are not attending university! You are not studying up on the dead! You are a young lady, a lady of propriety, of whom a young earl and his father have agreed would make a suitable wife. Show some respect!" She whispered venomously. Molly crossed her arms over her chest, glaring back at the stout woman before her. Her father was suddenly by her side, asking what the matter was.

''Oh, Papa! I don't want to get married! Please say I don't have to!" Molly cried into his chest. Her father gave his wife a pointed look, as if to say, 'you couldn't have waited?' He chuckled and pulled Molly away.

''Oh, my dear. It's not for awhile anyway. Who knows, maybe you'll have changed your mind by then. Lord Houghton is a very kind and successful young man. You'll warm up to him when the time comes.'' Her father gave her a kind smile, and Molly tried her best to return it. He soon escorted her stepmother away to dance, leaving a bitter Molly to sulk in the corner.

''You know, it's relatively odd for the birthday girl to be sitting in the corner at her own party.'' Molly was startled by a low voice. She looked up, to see a tall, pale, and relatively lanky boy leaning against the wall. He didn't look at her, but his eyes instead flitted around the room at the many people dancing. His eyes burned with a sapphiric emerald color she was sure she'd never seen before, a curiosity lurking behind them with each passing glance. Then, his sights set to her. Molly nearly gasped as those blue orbs stared into hers.

''Y..yes well..the party isn't really for me anyway. My stepmother loves societal events.'' Molly stuttered at first, before she explained. She shrugged with a slight smile, to which the boy grinned in return. They stood, not saying a word, just watching the people. All was peaceful, until a loud voice called from across the room.

''Sherlock! Sherlock, dear, we're leaving!" The voice of a lovely woman called from the doorway. Sherlock looked over, meeting her gaze. He nodded, before peeling himself away from the wall.

''Happy birthday, Miss Hooper.'' He turns to Molly, and bows in a swift, robotic trained fashion. Molly nods her head in response, and he walks away. 'His name is Sherlock.' Molly thought to herself, a brief smile on her face. She then wondered who this mysterious, and quite dashing boy was.

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Sherlock was not like most other young men his age. While most of the other boys at school were interested in playing cricket or rugby, Sherlock was becoming a man of science and he didn't seem to care, or understand the need for trivial things like sports, friends, or girls. That was, until that night. His parents had dragged him to this party, while he would rather be at home, or better still, alone at school in his dorm. He had observed the attendants to within an inch of writing their biographies, when his eyes cast onto her. She was sweetness itself, pale skin and rosy cheeks shining in a lovely contrast to the dark blue gown she wore. The neckline swooped down, exposing a large portion of her alabaster skin for him to relish in. Petite sleeves had capped her tiny shoulders, and her delicate arms held themselves close to her frame. Sherlock had berated himself for staring so long.'Girls are far too distracting.' The logical side of his brain professed. Yet, he soon found his feet carrying him to where she sat in the corner. Her brown hair was curled into large rings, which were held up with a large comb. The young man didn't have the first clue as to how he would approach her. Apparently, sarcastic remarks were his method. They hadn't said much in exchange, which he felt was probably for the best. He simply enjoyed sharing the same oxygen as her, until he was finally pulled away by his mother's insistence. He had turned, with every intention of asking her first name. He had already known her surname was 'Hooper', given the home they were in, and the fact that the party was for her. However, when his icy eyes met her warm, chocolate browns, his brain shorted out. He found himself bowing in a very gentlemanly way, before he left her side. It was the most regrettable move on his part, and he decided it was best to erase the fleeting exchange between them.

He had successfully deleted her smile, her eyes, her beautiful voice, her existence, from his mind. For all of three years.

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Well, there you have it. Chapter 1. I finally am to a place in writing this where I can comfortably post at least the first part. Anyway, it won't be updated too frequently, maybe once a week or so. Anyway, keep in mind that this is a teenage Sherlock we are dealing with, he is still growing into himself. ;) So, what do you think?


	2. Chapter 2

Wow! thank you so much for the support this story has already received! Yay for follows, favorites, and these lovely reviews! you all rock, and I am so grateful for your kind words:

**Lucy36, Unicorn Lady, Darrenlove16, Mione W.G, Anasthesia93, Adi who is also Mou, Potix, Empress of Verace, lollipop-chan, Musicchica10, Arlottaness, Sherloky, Chaoticmom, Zora Arian, Squibalicious.**

Oh, Just a reminder, I don't own anything! Sad, but true.

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''Happy birthday, my dear Molly.'' Molly's dear father proclaimed as they brought the cake out to her. Eighteen candles lit the dessert, and a smiling Molly kissed her withering father on his cheek. He was ill, but still in high spirits on this wonderful day. His beloved daughter had become a woman, and was betrothed to the most successful man in all of England. He would be here tonight, just returning from traveling to America. Molly would meet him, and no doubt, be impressed with him too.

Molly had just blown out the candles of her cake, when a man of medium height and relatively charming looks was standing before them. A much older man, shorter and rounder, stood beside him, and was smiling at her father.

''Albert, what a pleasure to see you!" The chubby man cried out, before stepping to embrace her dear Papa. Molly smiled as she watched the two men laugh, carrying on with greetings. She then looked to the younger man, who was staring at her presently. She managed a shy smile, before looking back down to the floor. He appeared a bit older than her, but she couldn't be sure how much. Molly was snapped out of her thoughts by her father's voice.

''Molly, dear. This is my oldest friend, Francis Houghton. Francis, meet my sweet Molly.'' He extended a hand to her, beckoning her to come meet the older gentleman. Molly smiled sweetly at him, before bowing down gracefully in her dress. Francis bowed as well, and kissed the top of her hand.

''Such a pretty young flower you've grown to be. Just like your mother.'' He offered her a quiet bit of praise, to which Molly smiled brightly. She quite liked this friend of Papa's.

''Ah, and this is my own Augustus. Come here, lad.'' Francis waved his hand wildly, and it summoned up the taller man. Molly racked her brain, trying to place the name. Suddenly, it struck her. Her eyes flared wide, and she cast a quick glare to her father.

''Molly, this is Lord Augustus Houghton. He just returned from a business expanse to trade with the Americans. Isn't that wonderful?" Her father was trying to save face. He could see her obvious disdain, and was wordlessly instructing her to behave. She turned to the young lord, and gave a curtsy. He bent down t return the stoic greeting. Molly was about to excuse herself, when Augustus held out a hand.

''Would you care to dance, Miss Hooper?" He asked. Molly had to stifle a bitter chuckle. His voice was positively revolting to her ears, the posh air coming straight from his pointed nose. Molly grimaced a bit, and looked to her father. He nodded just a bit, nudging her forth with his head. Molly put on a wee smile, before taking his hand. Augustus led them to the floor, where other couples had just ended with the last song. Soon, a beautiful melody filled the large hall, and the couples engaged in a waltz. Augustus held her by her waist, just a bit too closely for her liking. His arm extended hers out in a painfully straight fashion as he led them around the room.

''So, Miss Hooper. What are some of your hobbies?" He asked, not looking away from her. Molly squirmed a bit under his stare, but tried her hardest not to show it.

''I enjoy reading, as well as studying the sciences. Pathology is my favorite.'' She answered proudly. She knew a significant amount of things, and was fully prepared to answer any questions he may have for her. However, none came. Instead, a scoff of disapproval was echoing in her ear, and she looked up to find his gaze in a look of disgust.

''Pathology. I hardly think that the sort of thing a young lady would subject herself to. Surprising, that your father would allow such materials to enter your library.'' Augustus scrunched his face, before smiling down at her. Molly was just about to tell him off, when someone cleared their throat behind her. Augustus stopped twirling, and looked up.

''Mind if I cut in?" A deep voice asked regally. Molly remembered that voice, and the boy attached to it. The baritone was even lower than it had been three years before, but she knew it was him. Molly turned happily to see an even taller, raven haired young man, standing before her. Augustus relented, gripping her hand tightly.

''I think, given the situation, Miss Hooper, it would be best if we were to continue dancing.'' Augustus had said, seemingly answering for her. Yet, the tall man didn't budge. He instead looked to Molly, awaiting her answer. Molly pulled her hand from Augustus's.

''Thank you for the dance. However, I think the 'situation' we find ourselves in, is that this gentleman would like to dance with me. Given that it is my birthday, I will dance with whomever I wish.'' Molly sneered, even though her face was all smile. Augustus visibly scowled, bowed, and took his leave. Molly turned, and took Sherlock's awaiting hand. He spun her about, before pulling her into his strong hold. Molly was stunned to say the least. The difference between his skill and Augustus's, well, it was very obvious. They turned in the room, just as the other dancers, and Molly wished, just slightly, that he would hold her a bit closer.

''Friend of yours?" He asked after a moment. Molly looked up at him, to see his gaze following the deflated aristocrat. She scoffed, before looking back up to meet those blue eyes. He was mesmerizing.

''Oh..um..no. We actually just met. He seems positively vile, if I'm being honest.'' Molly chuckled a bit. Sherlock smirked ever so slightly. He followed the steps of the waltz, leading her around the room. The music slowed to a stop, and they bowed to each other.

''Thank you for the dance, Miss Hooper.'' Sherlock spoke, before turning to abruptly leave. Molly's hand jutted out on its own, flying to touch his shoulder. He turned, an inquisitive look in place.

''Please, call me Molly. And, thank you for the dance, Sherlock.'' She said timidly. Sherlock tilted his head, before realizing how she must have learned his name. He nodded, and turned to leave. Her eyes followed him as he walked past people, his posture held high and purposeful. Molly sighed to herself, thinking that she really had received the raw end of the deal she had been dealt. She turned, and came face to face with her mother.

''What were you doing dancing with that boy, Molly Elizabeth Hooper?" She snarled. Molly scowled, her nose scrunching up in distaste.

''I was just dancing, what's so wr-''

''You are a betrothed, young lady. Your fiance is very upset at your blatant disregard for his request to continue dancing.'' The older woman quipped back. Molly's eyes widened, her cheeks flaring a bright red with anger.

''He is NOT my fiance. I won't marry him. You can't make me!" Molly blurted out, a bit loudly. A few people next to them turned to see what the commotion was. Molly flashed a glare at them then back to her stepmother. Suddenly, she was off. Her feet flew, carrying her and her beautiful cream colored gown out the back door, leading to the garden of their estate. She stood out in the dark, her fair skin and light colored clothing serving as a stark contrast to the cool night sky.

She was cold, but she refused to return to the party. Her silk gloved hands rubbed themselves up and down her exposed arms trying to warm herself. Soon, she felt a warm fabric draping over her. She gasped and whipped around to see the tall, equally pale boy she had danced with earlier.

''You know, it's relatively odd for the birthday girl to be outside, away from her party.''

''Oh, he...hello Sherlock. T..thank you.'' She mumbled nervously, shrugging her shoulders to signify her gratitude for his long woolen overcoat. He shrugged, before looking over her features.

''You've been crying. Why?" He asked curiously. Molly chuckled a bit, before looking back at the large manor. She spotted her father, chatting happily with his friend.

''Oh, no reason really. I suppose I'm just wishing I could be somewhere else.'' She sighed, and turned away from him. Her gaze shifted to the clear sky, watching the stars glitter. Sherlock, however, was studying her every move. The way she sighed, the way she clutched his coat around her. He even noticed the way she subtly smelled it, trying to be discreet in her method of breathing him in. 'Physically nervous, cheeks flushed, breathing is a bit shallow. Ah. Attraction.'' His mind fired off the deduction quickly, causing Sherlock to widen his eyes a bit, before a smirk set into his lips.

''Where would you like to be?" He asked, finding himself genuinely curious as to her interests. Molly looked to her side, a bit shocked that he would ask at all.

''It's..well..it's a bit silly. You'll probably say I'm being stupid, everyone else does.'' Molly smiled sadly. Sherlock was taken aback. Perhaps it was her sad trace of a grin, or the way her eyes shone under the moonlight. Perhaps he was just bored, and she was providing him a puzzle, but whatever the reason, he nudged her elbow.

''Try me.'' Molly looked a bit hesitant to start. Sherlock gave her an impatient nod, as if to say 'well, go on.' She took a deep breath, and began.

''Well, I want to attend university. I want to move away from this place and live on my own in London. I want to study pathology and become a mortician.'' He watched the way her eyes lit up as she spoke of her wishes. Her radiant smile brightening her entire face. In the back of his mind, Sherlock was trying to decide if the plunging feeling he felt in his stomach was a good or bad thing.

''Well, why don't you?" He asked. Molly stopped her minor ramblings, looking up at him with wide brown eyes.

''Wh..what?"

''I said, why don't you? You seem intelligent enough by my observations, and I'm sure you would be highly successful, given the fact that it is something you really want to do, and therefore, would strive to achieve that goal.'' He stated, not as a suggestion, but rather, a fact. Molly was perked and listening intently to his words.

''You...wh..you're the first person who hasn't told me I'm being silly. Father thinks it's a phase. My stepmother says it's 'improper' for a young lady to think on such morbid things. She thinks all young ladies are to be wed to rich, young masters, and produce lots of children.'' Molly said the last part in a snide tone. Sherlock chuckled, before looking up at the stars.

''Well, then she is a moron.'' He replied. It was at that statement, the off handed manner in which he said it, that possessed Molly to take action. With a swift motion, she pulled him down to her level, grabbing the lapels of his dress jacket. Before Sherlock could react in any fashion to her, her lips were smashing into his. He blinked furiously, trying to see straight. The kiss itself was anything but perfect. It was obvious to him that she had never kissed before. It was just as obvious to her that he was in the same boat. She quickly pulled away, and blushed as she peeked up at his face. Molly nervously bit her lip, waiting for him to say something, anything. Finally, Sherlock stood a bit taller and bowed to her. Molly was confused as to his sudden change in demeanor, until she heard the approaching voices of her father and his friend. Molly looked back to Sherlock, who gave another bow.

''Happy birthday, Miss Hooper.'' He said, before turning and leaving. Molly watched him go, barely noticing that his coat was still draped around her shoulders.

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Well, happy birthday, Molly, indeed. Lol, I sort of wonder if she was just like 'Screw this, I'm giving myself a present!' Sometimes, these characters take their own actions, and they even surprise me. Yea, that last part...not exactly planned on my end. But, there you have it. Further proof that the plot bunnies are in charge. hope you liked it!


	3. Chapter 3

So, an immense thank you for all the support! I wish I could post more often, but sadly, life is just a jerk sometimes. Anyway, just again, thank you so much for liking this story, and reading it, following, favoriting, and reviewing! I just am always so overwhelmed to see that people have actually taken the time to check my work out! thank you all! Special shout out to these reviewers: **avatardsherlockian, sammykatz, darrenlove16, thetasigma14, unicorn lady, aussiemaelstrom, benedict-addict holmes, anasthesia93, empress of verace, enchantingerika, lono, musicchica10, hermione-amelia-rose1479, renessaincbooklover108, beth-taurichick, aviatress, goldenvine, rocking the redhead, sherlolly-221B, and the guests. Thank you for sparing a few moments to tell me your thoughts!**

oh, I should point out, I do not own anything, sadly.

Onto the next chapter! teehee.

Enjoy!

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The next afternoon, Molly took the long stroll down the road that led from her family's home to the large, spanning manor of the Holmes family. She had spent the remainder of the evening thinking of Sherlock, his words of encouragement, his lips, and the way she could almost detect a blush on his cheeks after they kissed. She had made the decision that night, that she wanted to get to know him much better. Betrothal be damned. Augustus Houghton may be a lord, and may be one of the wealthiest men in the country, but he couldn't hold a candle to Sherlock Holmes's charms and intelligence. Molly soon found herself standing in front of the large manor gate. She pushed it open and strode up the long road leading to the house. The gravel kicked up under her boots, bouncing off the heels and back down to the earth with each step. She walked up the steps and rang the large bell that was hanging to the side, a long cord dangling from its middle. Molly pulled on it, and the bell clambered with a resilient echoing sound. Soon, the large door opened, revealing a staunch looking man. Molly smiled up at him, waiting for him to speak.

''Ah, Miss Hooper. You must be here to see my brother. Do come in, I'll go and fetch him for you.'' The man turned and allowed her to walk in. He then closed the door, and immediately walked down one of the long corridors of the mansion. Molly took the moment to look at her surroundings. Sure, her home was large and quite beautiful itself, but nothing in comparison with the beauty that was surrounding her. The floors were pure marble. Crafted to appear flawless, they seemed to spill across the span of the room, as if the pieces were a singular entity. The walls were a beautiful dark mahogany color, standing strong in contrast to the milky white floors. In front of her, there was a large winding staircase. It wrapped around itself, climbing to the next floor like a vine. Such intricate details tat had been placed all around her, and Molly could easily tell that this family was not worse for wear. She was gazing up at the ceiling that rose high above her head, when she heard his voice.

''Molly?" She whipped around, her gaze falling and landing on his curious expression. She smiled at him, and quickly strode to meet him. She held out his coat that ad been tucked neatly in her arms, offering it to him. Sherlock looked down, and took it after a moment. He gazed back up to see her nervously looking around.

''Thank...you.'' he managed. Molly nodded in return, a small grin in place. The exchange was more than awkward, and neither of the young adults knew what to say, given the previous evening's incident. After a moment, Molly sighed and leaned up to kiss Sherlock's cheek.

''Th...thank you for letting me borrow your coat.'' She said upon returning her feet to the floor. He looked into her eyes, seemingly fixed to the warm glow they held. After a moment, their staring contest was interrupted by a short cough. Sherlock turned to see his older brother leaning against the large staircase. He glowered at the smirk of amusement on Mycroft's face, and suddenly bowed to Molly.

''Thank you for returning it, Miss Hooper. Would...um...would you like me to escort you home?" He questioned out of sheer practiced manners. Mycroft choked down a laugh as he strolled past them.

''Take the carriage, Sherlock. Don't worry, I won't tell Mummy.'' He winks at his younger brother, before bowing to Molly, and leaving the room. Molly tucked her chin down, and Sherlock nodded, ushering her to where the carriage was. The two were silent while Sherlock readied the horses, tightening their harnesses, and finally dragging the reins back to the cart.

He held a hand out for her, letting her push off of it to seat herself. Molly watched him as he easily stepped up into the carriage, before sitting closely at her side. He snapped the leather straps in a quick swoop, and the carriage jolted forward as they began to move.

The trip was silent, awkwardness building between the two of them. Finally, when a steel blade wouldn't have been able to cut through the tension, they spoke.

"Listen, about last night..."

"Last night was..."

Their voices cut each other off, both stopping at the same time. Sherlock gave a chuckle, while Molly blushed.

"Please, ladies first." He said, tipping his head for her to continue. Molly let out a shaky breath, and inhaled one just as slowly and carefully.

"I was going to say, about last night, I... I am sorry. It was forward of me...and I shouldn't have put you in such a position." Molly's voice was quiet, and shrank even more with the progression of words. Sherlock's slight grin fell upon hearing her words.

"So... you regret it, then?" He asked in a somber tone.

"No! Oh, well, I mean, not 'no', as in, I planned it, but more like 'no', in the sense that, well, it wasn't, I mean, uh...um...what were you going to say?" Molly's lips could barely keep up as she tried to cover her tracks, not wanting to offend him. Her eyes widened with ever stumbling phrase, and Sherlock chuckled again. He then leaned over to speak in a quiet, low tone, as if sharing a secret.

"I was going to say that last night was, well, last night was rather nice, I thought." His low baritone skimmed past the smooths of her ear drum, before entering her mind, and assaulting any cognitive thought she may have been having. Her blush increased tenfold, and she let out a steady stream of air as he returned to his proper stance in the cart.

"You... you really? I mean, it wasn't, wasn't too... um... awful?" She asked, trying to form a fairly intelligent phrase. He smirked, before shaking his head. His eyes then gazed into hers, and Molly swore in that moment that she was simply ruined.

"Of course not, Molly. You are quite lovely, and I enjoy what little time we've spent together. You house a greater ability to tolerate my many social shortcomings, something my family cannot do at the best of times. You seem remarkably intelligent and you speak very passionately about your dreams. I admire that." Sherlock's words left his mouth with a bit of resistance, his pride and ego trying to best him in the admission. However, he pushed through, and sighed out as his speech came to a close. A final thought trotted just behind the others.

"I also happened to find kissing you quite agreeable." His smirk was positively mischievous. Molly giggled a bit at the statement, turning her head away to try and hide her rosy cheeks. Sherlock smiled as he looked over to her, taking in her lovely pink glow. The carriage bumped along the road, riding gracelessly over rocks and dips in the ground. They were once again silent, but it was companionable and peaceful. After a moment, Molly turned to look at the tall young man next to her. She took in his ethereal features, the way his cheekbones ridged high underneath his soft skin. His hair contrasted with the alabaster quality of it. The dark, nearly black waves rushed over his forehead and the nape of his neck. The thing she found most compelling, however, was the color of his eyes. They weren't just one, as hers were. They swirled, each shade ebbing and spilling into each other, like the sea on a warm, summer day. She could be happy to drown in those eyes, even if they were fixed on the road ahead. Suddenly, the sea snapped to meet her gaze, and Molly couldn't help but let out a content sigh.

"You've been staring at me for the past ten minutes, Miss Hooper. I do hope there isn't anything wrong with my face." Sherlock quipped jokingly, a hint of a smirk tucking at the corner of his lips. Molly blushed yet again, and shook her head as an answer.

"No, no, definitely nothing wrong with your face." She giggled. She looked back up to find him very close to her. So close, in fact, that she could feel his breath sweeping onto her lips. She looked into those eyes again, and plunged forward into such lovely abyss.

Their lips met, sweetly at first. However, as the kiss progressed into one driven by passion, rather than sweetness, Molly could not find a part where their mouths were not attached. She hadn't even felt the carriage slow, as Sherlock pulled on the reins in one hand, the other reaching up to cup her cheek. The cart and horses now stood still on the empty road, the reins dropped and forgotten. Sherlock's formerly occupied hand had now laid purchase within the fabric of her dress. His fingers gripped around the smooth material that gathered just at her hip. Molly let out a moan, which moved from her past lips to his. Sherlock takes the opportunity to slide his tongue past her soft lips. The kiss deepens further as she lets him, and she finds him pressing her into the side of the carriage wall. She had heard stories from a friend, about the hormones of teenage boys, but she was quickly realizing that they were wild and very excitable things, indeed. It was when he moved to kiss her neck that Molly gasped for breath.

"Sherlock...Sher..." she started, trying to find some composure. He moved closer still, breathing in her scent, eager to get to know her much better. Her shaking voice barely registered in his clouded mind. She called his name again, and he looked up.

"Hm?" He mumbled, returning to kissing at her neck.

"Carriage...Sherlock...somebody's coming." Molly gasped out as he bit her pulse. Sherlock growled against her skin, before forcing himself away from her warm body. He smoothed down his coat, and ran a hand over an unruly part of her hair. She smiled at him, her rosy cheeks coming to light again. The oncoming carriage slowed beside theirs, and an older couple peered out from the cart. The woman gave them both an endearing smile.

"Oh Harold, look. Do you remember when we were like that? All those little meetings behind pillars at the societal events?" She nudged her husband, who patted her hand gently. He smiled at his wife, and then looked back at the now very flushed young couple.

"Yes, dear. I remember. Excuse me, young man. I was wondering if you were familiar with the nearby villages. My wife and I are trying to locate Bromley." The elder man seemed to recall the name from the air above him. Sherlock nodded courteously, before stepping down from his seat and approaching the other carriage. Molly looked after him fondly, watching his long legs carry him with grace and a handsome elegance she hadn't seen in anyone before. Soon, he returned, and the other carriage took off with a bump. The older woman waved kindly to Molly, who smiled back. Sherlock climbed into the cart they were in, and seated himself once again by her side. The two were quiet, both clearing their throats discreetly. When their eyes met, they both chuckled in unison. Molly blushed still, and her eyes lit up at the way his face became younger when he smiled so genuinely. Sherlock picked up the reins, and clicked them in a forceful fashion. The horses started off in a calm trot, pulling the cart down the road once more.

When they arrived at Molly's home, she could see her stepmother standing in front of the large bay window of her sitting room. She sighed, and Sherlock looked to her knowingly.

"Well, Miss Hooper, home at last." He said in a very outdone sort of politeness. Molly grinned slightly as she saw him lick his lips slightly, his eyes roving over her features a final time before she departed. He offered her a hand down from the carriage, and bowed regally as she stood in front of him. She returned the gesture, and then turned to walk inside. Sherlock had just boarded the cart again, when Molly turned again.

"It's getting a bit chilly, Mr. Holmes. You should put your coat on." She called out. Sherlock couldn't feel a nip in the air, but he bended to her request gladly. Once the warm material was surrounding him, she gave a nod of approval, and waved him off as she stepped inside. Sherlock snapped the leather, and the horses started moving again.

It was when he was half home that he began feeling the chill of the evening air. His fingers were achingly stiff. 'Ah, musician's hands.' he thought to himself, placing a cold hand into his pocket for his beautiful, leather and fur gloves. Instead of the gloves, however, he found a folded piece of paper. The young man curiously pulled it out, and flipped it around in his long fingers. The piece of stock paper had been folded, and as he flipped the card open, a smile grew on his face widely. He was glad no one was around to see.

'Come and see me. The garden, after it's dark.  
I'll wait for you.'

~Molly~

He glanced up at the now revealing stars, enjoying how they glistened in the darkening sky. He then looked down to the note, enjoying the curls and sweeps of her beautiful penmanship. The smile on Sherlock's face grew tenfold as he tried to picture her beautiful blushing face as she wrote it, praying for the courage to press pen to parchment.

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Heeheehee, yea..that totally happened. Well, I hope you liked it. Tell me what you think! Pleeaaaseee?!


	4. Chapter 4

So wow, thank you for all the continued support and reviews. I love that you are all so excited about this story. I will admit, after the chapter I wrote a few days ago, I needed to take a break, because of reasons you will learn next week...however, I get to spend 12 hours on a train on Tuesday, so hopefully I will get more, if not all, of this finished. YAY! anyway, crunched for time, so I'll just make this short and sweet. Thanks you all, I love you all so much...I don't own anything...LET'S DO THIS!

Chapter Four

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The first time he had gone to see her was the following night after receiving her note. He snuck from out his ground level bedroom window, just as the rest of the household dozed off into sleep. The air was cool, crisp and biting to the skin. Sherlock made the journey on foot, so as not to be caught. By the time he reached the outside gates to her family's property, his nose resembled a freshly picked cherry, bright and red. He hopped the fence and quietly wandered around to the garden gate entrance. With a slow, maneuvered creaking of the gate, he made his way into the garden. True to her word, Molly was there, sitting underneath a plant covered terrace. He hadn't expected to see her so...vulnerable. Her brown hair cascaded down and around her shoulders, highlighting her slender jawline. She was dressed in simple slippers, a long white nightgown, which was covered by a scarlet robe. In Sherlock's opinion, she looked unguarded, innocent, and absolutely ravishing.

"Hello." She said, a sweet smile breaking over her features. He felt his heart plummet into the depths of his stomach at that smile, and almost staggered in an attempt of compensation. With a swift approach, he stepped to stand in front of her. Molly smiled even wider at the look his eyes held. He looked possessed, some wild thing lurking beneath that beautiful head of hair. He swiftly moved, pulling her close and kissing her soundly on the lips. Molly squeaked a bit in surprise, which turned into a giggle as he attacked her with lovely kisses across the bridge of her nose.

"Sh, we must be quiet. I don't want my parents to find you here." She whispered quietly, holding his face between her palms. Sherlock sighed out in frustration, before separating himself from her just a bit. Molly took his hand in hers, and gently squeezed it.

"You look beautiful, Molly." Sherlock professed. She blushed, and turned away in embarrassment. However, a hand cupped her cheek, bringing her back to him. He didn't say anything, just gave her a pointed look, as if he were commanding her to take his words to meaning. They stared at each other for what felt like ages. He, no doubt, was picking apart her very life Studying and deducing the origin of the slight scar above her eyebrow, the dimples of her cheeks, the indents on her lower lip from when she would it when she was concentrating on something for too long. She, meanwhile, tried to pick apart the simplest things. The way his eyes seemed to ignite with a curious fire, even under the cool, ocean blue pools that they were. She tried to figure out how he was so tall for someone his age, but she kept coming up with nothing.

"Tell me. About you. You can read me like a book, but I know almost nothing about you. Please, Sherlock, tell me." Her request was meek and timid. Sherlock smirked at her shy demeanor, but nodded his head in agreement.

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The evening passed by much too quickly. However, Molly listened as he explained to her about his childhood, growing up in his home, his brother. He divulged his secret wish of a young boy to sail the seas, not as a man of the service, but as a renegade, a pirate. Molly had giggled at his admission, her nose scrunching up in delight at the idea of him plundering their family's silver. He was currently discussing his new wishes. The wish to move to London and become a consulting detective.

"But, there's no such thing. What would you do?" Molly asked, slightly confused by his goal.

"I know there's no such post. I've invented it, for myself. The police are all too stupid in the big city. People bring them cases, inquiries, every day, and they go unsolved. I can see so many things that the police miss, I'd be finishing the cases they can't, or rather, won't. I can solve them, Molly." His eyes were alight with that same clever spark. Molly now knew what it was.

"Passion." She muttered. He gave her an odd look, and she smiled up at him.

"This is your passion, what you love more than anything in the world, isn't it? You like puzzles, and solving them. You are so clever and smart, Sherlock. I know you can solve the unsolved problems." Molly could see him now. See behind those gorgeous eyes what made him tick. His mind was quick, sharp as a pin with its rapid ability to observe the small details others overlooked. He was passionate about this work. Molly suddenly felt something within herself. A need to do more. She wanted to help him with it.

"I could help you." she blurted out, before her mouth gaped at her own brash idea. She thought, for a moment, he would laugh at her. Just like everyone else, she thought he would call her a silly girl for having such thoughts. However, the sly grin that swiped over his face was one she knew to be different.

"You're brilliant, Molly. You can come to London with me. You could attend university, and study pathology. Then, you could be my assistant. Help me with understanding the victims. It'll be great!" His smile was positively beaming now, and Molly's matched it. The tip of the sun was just rising over the hills in the distance, and Sherlock looked over, realizing he had kept her awake the entire evening. He looked back at her, and her smile had softened.

"I know, you have to get back. This evening was beautiful, Sherlock. Thank you, for telling me." Molly tilted her head slightly to the side as she watched the sun slowly creep up into the sky. Sherlock pulled her close once more, and kissed her lips softly, sweetly.

"I will come see you again. I promise." He said, kissing her forehead. He soon pulled away and started walking out of the garden of her home. Sherlock looked back at her again, wanting to capture her image in his mind. The sunlight washing over her beautiful auburn hair, her skin aglow with an orange and peach tone. Her eyes. Her smile. He turned and ran, knowing the need to hurry back to his own home.

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Molly watched until she could no longer see the springy dark curls of his head anymore. She pulled her robe closer to her, and started back for her bedroom. The morning dew clung to the edge of her nightgown as it passed over the grass, and the chill in the air stuck her nose with small, needle like precision. Her face was red and rosy, though she didn't think it had anything to do with the cold.

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Aw, yay for sweetness. Tell me what you think, and I shall give you a delicious cookie via the next chapter. Yea, you heard me...cookies.


	5. Chapter 5

I just want to say thank you so much for all the support for this story. I've received such an overwhelming amount of kind reviews and PMs about it. Thank you so very much, and I hope you will all continue reading and reviewing.

**By the way, I still do not own anything, only the way I present the story.**

**Enjoy!**

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Their relationship grew as the spring and summer passed. Most every night, Sherlock would sneak from his family's estate, across the cool grass and soil pathways, to the garden in the back on Molly's home. She was always there waiting for him. They were completely taken with each other, most of the time either talking about their lives and goals, or kissing each other senseless.

On this night, he came to her, eager with news. He ran through the gate to the garden and directly to their favored spot. She was there, waiting for him as usual. Molly smiled as she saw him run, and her eyes glittered with a curiosity as she saw the smile on his face.

"Sher..." Molly started to ask what he was so excited about, when he pulled her into his arms, sealing her words with a fierce kiss. She moaned into his mouth as he pressed her up against the massive tree she had been leaning on. Eventually, Sherlock pulled away. The silly grin on his face was still in place, and Molly barely recognized her usually stoic looking suitor.

"I'm going to London, Molly. Mycroft has spoken to the chief inspector there. They're willing to consult with me on cases. Molly, do you know what this means? I actually get to be a consulting detective. The only one in the world!" He picked her up and clutched her to his chest. Molly giggled happily as he swung her about, before he set her bare feet on the soft grass below. As if reading her mind, he spoke before she could.

"You're coming with me, of course. I do need an assistant, after all." A wicked grin spread across Sherlock's face at the suggestion that she run away with him. Molly nodded happily in agreement.

"Of course. So, wait...when do you leave? Or, we, I should say. When do _we_ leave?" Molly's face held the sweetest smile he had ever seen as she asked.

"Tomorrow. We can leave tomorrow. Mycroft has already found lodgings for me, and I would be completely honored if you would accompany me." Sherlock seemed to purr the second part of his statement. His nose nuzzled into the slender slope of her neck, his warm breath glancing off her skin. Molly hummed out in distracted approval, her delicate hands running over his shoulders.

"Oh, but Sherlock. Tomorrow is Papa's birthday. There's to be a large party. I have to be here. You have to be here. They've invited your family, you know." Molly sighed out as she remembered. Her mother had been carrying on for days now about the plans. Truth be told, her dear Papa didn't really care for the large society parties. He merely let his wife go about her planning, happy that she was busy for a bit. Sherlock sighed out, rolling his eyes at the sentimental celebration that was keeping her from freely running away with him.

"Alright, well, tomorrow night. After the party, meet me in the garden, we can leave then." His quick mind comes across the idea almost effortlessly. Molly is beaming, and nods her head excitedly. She leans in and kisses him sweetly, a smile still lighting up her face. He can hardly contain his excitement as he goes on to tell her about the opportunities that await them in London, the opportunities that await her.

"I have no intention of spoiling your dreams, Molly. I do expect you to pursue them, wholeheartedly, in fact." He says in earnest after a bit. Molly blushes and giggles a bit at his stern conviction for her goals to be achieved. She sighs and leans in to kiss him again, this time, it's harsher than she usually takes charge. Sherlock is the one who is stunned this time, gasping into her mouth as she nibbles on his lower lip. Her hands come up to rest on his shoulders, and she pulls him to rest flush against her soft gown. Sherlock is too caught up in the flustered development of things to question his body's reactions, and he braces himself against the tree behind her head. They tangle themselves up in a passionate winding of limbs and lips, both sighing and moaning into the other's touch. Sherlock is soon a moaning mess, as Molly kisses down the column of his throat, her gentle hands lightly scratching at his sides to pull his shirt from his trousers. He allows her to have her way with him, simply supporting himself on shaking arms as her sweet lips dance along the ridge of his jaw. Molly soon pulls away, looking up at the lightheaded looking lad before her.

"You should get home and pack. Lots of stuff to do today, you know." She says with a wink, and tries her hardest to ignore his confused and completely frustrated expression. He eventually nods and pulls away from her as well, before leaning in for another kiss.

"I'll see you tonight at the party. Then later, right here at midnight. Be ready, my dear." Sherlock whispers into her ear, sending a cool flush directly down her spine. Molly closes her eyes and nods, and suddenly feels the cool night air along her front where he was just huddled. She opens her eyes to see he has left. So, having no further reason to remain, she turns and quickly flees into the warmth of her room, eager to pack away her most precious possessions.

Molly ran down the stairs that evening, the satin of her beautiful, deep purple gown swished behind her as she swept toward her father. He saw her quickly approaching, and held his arms out to her, allowing her to envelope him in a massive hug.

"Happy Birthday, Papa!" Molly said sweetly, as her father laughed with joy. She was so happy he had seen another year, the illness having jeopardized those chances. Friends of her parents were just starting to arrive, and Molly looked expectantly at the door every so often, searching for his etched features to enter. However, the face she had not been expecting showed first. First came the elder Houghton, Francis. He seemed in high spirits, and Molly hadn't minded seeing him so much as she did seeing his offspring. The staunch and posh looking Lord Augustus made his way into the room, directly behind his much shorter father. Molly's face immediately fell into a stern look of disgust, which only deepened as their eyes met. His face held a small hint of a smug grin as he nodded ever so slowly toward her. She scoffed, and retreated to the side of the room where the beverages were being served. It had been a longer than necessary visit, but still, Molly preferred staring at the glistening glasses of champagne and wine to having to endure the features of the young earl. She nearly dropped her own glass out of surprise then, when she felt a hand on her lower back. As she jumped, she spun around to berate whom she assumed to be the idiotic master. She was greeted with much more familiar, much more welcome features.

"Ah, hello, Miss Hooper. Trying to decide what beverage tickles your fancy this evening? He was polite as ever, given the public surrounding, and Molly had to force herself not to grin like a mad woman at the sight of his devious smirk. She nodded her head cordially, and picked up a glass of wine for him to take. They stood and stared at the crowd sweeping in, all making their rounds to her beaming father and stepmother to say their congratulations on his living to see another year. Sherlock discreetly traced tiny circles into the fabric that smoothed over the back of her hip. His finger moved with ease over the silky fabric, and Molly found it far too wonderful a feeling. After a moment, she stood straight up, and turned to him.

"The east wing study. Meet me in ten minutes." She whispered to him, before placing her unspent glass down onto the table. Sherlock watched as she excused herself, swiftly making her way down the far corridor and out of sight. He looked around to ensure that no one had seen her leave, and briefly stood to wait out the clock. He couldn't help but think on the way she had looked when making her command. Her brown eyes were lusciously dark, like a fine chocolate truffle, her pupils had become so large, they nearly drowned out the small rim of her irises completely. It was a look he had never quite seen in those eyes before. It was a look he wanted to see again and again. Having waited five minutes, Sherlock decided it would be of no use for him to wait any longer. So, after taking a glance around, he slipped around the edges of the room, and eventually passed down the same hallway that she had prior.

The study was easy to find. There had only been five options of rooms in the east wing at all. Two of the door knobs were intricate, barely touched. 'Guest rooms.' he concluded. The third had no handle at all, which he figured meant it was a staff's entryway to the kitchen or pantry. The door in the far corner could have been it, were it not for the fact that it was shut entirely, whereas, the door next to his left had been opened just a tiny sliver. 'Ah, leaving me clues, are we, my dear?' Sherlock made his way to the door and quietly shut it behind him. He turned, and was greeted immediately with a very eager to please young lady, pressing him into the beautiful grain of the door. She tugged at his cravat, untangling it from around his neck and tossing it to the floor beneath them. Sherlock could barely even chuckle in reaction to her quick need, as Molly pressed her lips to his ardently. He breathed in her lovely scent, a mixture of rose petals and lilacs. The far too smooth material of her gown washed over his hands as he clutched to her hips. Soon they separated, still remaining close.

"What's this for, then?" He asked in a gruff tone. Molly smiled, and gently bit on her lower lip.

"I have no idea what's come over me, Sherlock. But, something in my body said I needed to have you...closer, to me. More intimately." She looked up into his deepening blue eyes, and he caught sight of that look again. The dark look of something _more._ He stepped her backwards and further into the study, until she was pinned against a large desk. He dipped her back, so that she now lay on its surface, her slender neck more exposed for him to taste.

"I feel quite the same, my dear Molly." He said in a hushed and low voice, before he lowered himself down to kiss her jaw slowly.

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Mr. Hooper held his champagne glass high into the air, despite a shaky arm. The other guests followed suit, and they drank to the toast he presented before them. Mrs. Hooper looked around for her stepdaughter, who was nowhere to be seen. She turned her attention back to her husband as he spoke. Meanwhile, across the room, a keen Mrs. Holmes was eying the crowd in search of her youngest boy. She made her way around the edge of the room, listening in as the celebrated man gave his speech.

"My dear friends, it is such a wonderful honor to be sharing this evening with you all, and with my family. My dear wife, Annette, and my darling daughter, Molly. I fear I may not reach to see another year, so it pleases me to spend this one with the people I find most important in my life. My bride and I would also like to make an announcement, in regards to our daughter. Tonight marks the occasion perfectly, I feel, as I may not get to see the grand event itself. My own lovely Molly is to marry Lord Augustus Houghton, upon her 21st birthday. Augustus, the wonderful son of my oldest and dearest friend, Francis, is by far one of London's most successful young men, and I can't think of anyone grander to give my little girl away to."

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Her hands ran down the nape of his neck as he kissed her now exposed collar. Her curled hair was pinned between the hard oak desk and her head, as she keened under his advances. Sherlock growled wantonly as he dipped his way lower to the top one of her small breasts. His teeth caught on the lace that trimmed her dress's collar, and the young man had half a mind to rip it off her body in that fashion. Molly moaned as his tongue traced along the edge of her dress, which had shifted to a lower position on her young chest. She merely allowed him to explore her, wanting nothing more than to give herself to him right in this very room. However, all thoughts of moving further were cut from both of their minds as they heard the door creak open, followed by a small gasp. Sherlock stopped, his eyes widening as he looked to Molly. Her eyes echoed his own terrified look, and he slowly turned to the entrance of the dark room. In the doorway, stood his own mother, hand held up and over her gaping mouth. Her eyes were just as wide as the pair's were, and she held an expression of pure shock, mixed slightly with disappointment. Molly sat up from the desk, her eyes coming to meet the maternal figure's. She looked positively shy and mortified.

"Molly, your father is looking for you. He has something he wants to talk to you about." Mrs. Holmes said as sweetly as she could, not wanting to make matters worse for the young girl. Molly stood now, and smoothed her hand over her gown, hitching it back into its proper positioning. Sherlock smoothed a hand over her tangled curls, flattening them back to some semblance of normalcy. He nodded curtly, and gave her an earnest look of reassurance. She mustered a meek smile, and moved past him. As she stepped through the door, she looked down from her glance at Sherlock's mother. The older woman placed her hand in Molly's, and gave her a small squeeze, before letting go. Molly left and walked down the corridor, back to the grand room where the celebration was. Sherlock stood upright, fixing his tie over his neck once more.

"Mother, please..." he started, and was cut off swiftly by her own voice, authority driven and harsh.

"No, Sherlock. You do not get to charm your way around this. What would motivate you to do something so reckless? That young lady is not your wife, nor is she your fiance. Now, you know that your father and I have a more alternative way of seeing things, but we still have practicalities and traditional standards we hold to." She pointed her finger in his face, emphasizing the hard critique she was giving her son.

"For instance..." He began to challenge, and she countered immediately.

"For instance, seducing a young lady of whom is betrothed to another man." She spilled the new information swiftly, cutting Sherlock down to a nib in size. He felt the air rush from his lungs, and his eyes drew together in a harsh look of confusion. His mother, intuitive as always, saw the look immediately.

"Oh...oh my dear, dear boy," She drew her hand up to her lips, "I thought you had known. Her father's just told everyone. Molly is betrothed to Lord Houghton's son, Augustus. She is to marry him upon her 21st birthday." She provided the details a bit softly, trying to break the news to her son as gently as she could. He simply had checked out, from the look of things, as his blank eyes stared directly through her. He felt his heart burning deep inside his chest, a tumultuous and paralyzing ache. He could briefly hear his mother consoling him, but it hardly mattered.

'She didn't tell me. I didn't see. How did I miss it? She didn't tell me in any capacity. Why?'

Upon composing himself, Sherlock returned to the celebration. He looked ahead sternly, not wanting to connect with anyone. However, his eyes drifted around, unable to stop themselves. He then caught sight of her. Her eyes shone with a glossy haze, she was forcing herself to swallow tears, and her mouth was curled into a bright smile. Though, he could see it was pained and false. Her eyes connected with his, and it was as if someone had stabbed him in the chest with a dull blade. He couldn't bear the sight of her anymore, not after she had made him want her as he did, not after learning the truth of her intended life. He could see it in her eyes, that she knew he was aware of the knowledge. Before she could make her way to him, Sherlock turned, leaving through the door of the beautiful estate. He walked up the gravel path that led to their front gate, and continued, even as he heard her calling after him. He could hear her footsteps against the tiny rocks, she ran to catch him. When she was close enough, he slowed.

"Sherlock, please...it's not what..." She began, before he turned and harshly dug into her.

"It's not what, Molly? Not what it sounds like? Not what you wanted me to find out? Did you decide that you'd rather have a secure and posh life with a fattening earl who owned half the country than live your dreams? Or was it simply that that was the plan all along, and you wanted to have a good laugh at the freakishly smart young man with the made up position? Well, nevertheless, you may return to your father's party, and return to the life you are supposed to lead. I no longer require your assistance." Sherlock felt his heart shatter completely as he turned and walked away from her, departing with a final 'Goodbye, Miss Hooper.' She didn't chase after him, knowing it was of no use. She simply stood and watched as he stalked off into the night, leaving her there, her own heart in tattered ruin. He hadn't heard her answer to his many questions he spat out at her in anger.

''It's not what I want."

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Please do not be too angry with me. It's all for the sake of plot. Trust me, I hate it too. Dang bunnies of evil!


	6. Chapter 6

So, wow...thank you all for the reviews from last chapter. That was a spike! Anyway, I'll just get right down to business.

I do not own Sherlock, BBC, anything Moffat, Gatiss, or Doyle have created. I don't even own the story idea, that credit goes to Lasergirl77, whom I hope is enjoying this story so far. Thanks for the idea lady!

Okay, here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

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He had sat in that carriage to London, quiet and absolutely ice cold. His brother had known better than to say anything at the time. The long night's ride was filled with tense silence between the two Holmes brothers, apart from the bumping of the wheels over the ground, and the soft trotting of the horses. Hours later, when they had entered the city's streets, Mycroft felt he could speak without serious ramifications.

"You weren't to know she'd be betrothed, Sherlock. It's hardly something you can feel foolish over. That, and the fact that she didn't mention it, she probably didn't want to hurt you. This, Sherlock, is the reason I do not delve into the emotional chaos that is relationships." He smoothly replied. His younger brother didn't respond, but merely nodded his head and continued to stare off into silence. They eventually pulled up to the slender, dark bricked building, the address, '221', sat in dark gold numbers.

"We're here." Mycroft said silently. Sherlock again nodded, and climbed down from his seat in the carriage, stepping onto the damp cobblestone road below. He grabbed a few of his cases full of things and followed his brother to the door. A knock later, there was a humble looking middle aged woman answered the door.

"Hello? Oh, Mycroft, dear. So good to see you. This must be your brother, Sherlock. Hello dear, come in come in. It's a bit chilly out tonight." She kindly rambled to the two younger men. Sherlock looked to his brother for some sort of clue as to who she was. He received nothing, so was forced to simply follow her as she made her way down a narrow hall.

"I'm your landlady, dear, Mrs. Hudson. Now, the rent situation is already taken care of, spoke with your dear father about it. There's a second bedroom upstairs, in case your brother comes to visit, or perhaps when you marry, you can have space for a nursery." The sweet older lady rambled on as she showed him up the first set of steps. Sherlock looked around the room, noting the newly papered walls, crisp and pristine to the eye. He had all but ignored her, until the last statement was made. It was much too soon to discuss, which may have been the reason he snapped.

"No. No, I will never marry. No need for a stupid nursery when I have no intention of ever having a companion. Women. The fairer sex indeed, until they're true and honest intentions are brought to light. Women are too distracting, they make you forget about what's truly important. No, I don't think you'll have to worry about anything like that, Mrs. Hudson." He sharply quipped, making the woman jump. He continued to view the rooms of the flat, and nodded in approval.

"I will stay. Thank you, Mycroft. I will get the rest of my things from the carriage, and then you may go back home." Sherlock quickly spun on his heel, and strode quickly out of the room. Mrs. Hudson looked after him, and then looked to the older brother.

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He had settled in quickly. Sure, his things were strewn about the flat, and his new housekeeper continuously scolded his unkempt hold on the place, Sherlock was adjusting nicely to this new place in his life. He had already consulted with the chief Inspector of Scotland Yard, one Gregory Lestrade, on a handful of minor cases. Sherlock understood the need for the man to build trust with him, yet, genius that he was, he grew restless and wanted several handfuls more to solve. Anything to keep his mind active. Anything to keep his mind away from her.

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Several months later, and Lestrade came to him for far more cases, both minor and headlining. He had very few visits from any of his family, though he knew that his 'dear' brother was keeping an eye on him, via the watchful gaze of the landlady downstairs. It wasn't until she came to him with a desperate plea, that he had even thought of becoming a private detective for the ordinary citizen.

"Sherlock, dear. What am I to do? My terrible husband, Henry, has got himself into a situation in the States." Mrs. Hudson sighed out in thought as she poured him a morning cup of tea. Sherlock looked up to see her furrowed brow.

"What sort of trouble is he in?" He asks, trying to sound at least a bit curious.

"Hm? Oh, seems he's accidentally been caught up with a mistress, and killed her husband in a fit of passion. Simple stuff really, but the police can't seem to pin him with the evidence." She shrugged her shoulders and sighed again, a bit sadly this time. Sherlock quirked a smirk of new intrigue, his brow raising a bit in question.

"You seem to think the judge should hang him before he's convicted. Why would you want such a thing for your own husband?" Sherlock was amused, to say the least. Especially at the woman's response.

"Sherlock, do you really not listen to anything I say? I did call him my 'terrible' husband. As in, he's absolutely horrid, and if he really is guilty, he should pay for his crimes. Husband or no, he is not above being punished for killing that prostitute's husband." Mrs. Hudson's thin arms were a flailing wave as she carried on. Sherlock smirked, when a thought entered his mind.

"Mrs. Hudson, if I were to speak to the chief of police in the States, see about bringing this...criminal...to justice, would you be alright with that?" He questioned her, unsure of what she was wanting to happen to her 'dear' Henry. However, he had his answer before she even spoke, as he saw the light in her eyes spark into focus.

"Oh, my dear young man, you would be doing a most noble gesture. That would please me, and make me very proud to have you as a tenant." She patted him on his shoulder, before continuing about her chores.

Within the following six months of correspondence and a speedy trial, Mr. Henry Hudson was sentenced to death. After that, the relationship between landlady and tenant grew to something more akin to that of mother and son.

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Well there you have it. Hm, wonder what will happen next. Let me ask you all something, is it okay if this tale eventually escalates quickly? Because that's all it will do for me at the moment. Lol. Leave me a note, let me know. Thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

Okay folks...this is it! I hope you can all keep up! An onslaught of chapters are about to flood your computer. I hope you enjoy them! It will be the complete story, apart from an epilogue, which will be finished hopefully by sometime in the next few days. I will give a major shout out then, because I really do want to acknowledge all of you who have been supporting me.

**Again, I do not own Sherlock, Molly, or any of the other characters, apart from Lord Augustus Houghton. (**Whom was inspired by a combination of Hamish from _Alice in Wonderland_, and the bad Nobleman from _Corpse Bride_...I really like Tim Burton's posh villains) **All other things are owned by Gatiss, Moffat, ACD, and the BBC.**

**Enjoy!**

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The same happiness in relationships could not be found for Miss Molly Hooper. Her stepmother was extremely vexing, pushing her into an increasingly swift momentum of planning a wedding. A wedding that Molly definitely didn't want. The activities that she was forced to partake in with her 'fiance' were becoming more frequent, and Molly rarely went more than a day without seeing the pompous young lord. It was only in her few private moments when she could truly think about the handsome young man she truly wished to be with. His dark hair, those intense and ever swirling eyes, that perfect porcelain skin, his passion, his kisses, his words. Those final words he had said, they always brought such stinging and pained tears to her eyes. She had ruined things, he would never forgive her, and neither would she. The one thing that benefited from her sadness, was when it was exposed, she had finally been granted her one other wish in life.

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"My dear Miss Hooper, it pains me to see you so unhappy." Lord Augustus's voice cut through her recent thoughts of Sherlock's enthusiastic face from that night when he had told her of their plan to run away to the city. She looked up to see him looking quite concerned with her apparent sorrowful expression. She quickly wiped a small smile on her face.

"I'm only a little tired, I suppose. I spent a great deal last night reading." She gave the diplomatic answer without thought to it. Augustus eyed her suspiciously, before sighing.

"If there is anything I could give you to make you happy, would you at least attempt to not seem so cross with me?" He leaned across the table of the small cafe they were sitting in. Molly looked up to see his face quirked in a questioning smile. The first thought that popped to mind was 'Sherlock', but she knew that was out of the question. The only other thought that crossed her thoughts was her second love.

"I would like to study pathology." She blurted out before she could rethink the idea. As soon as she had said it, she realized the brashness of her words. Molly covered her mouth with her hand. Her widened eyes shot up to his, but was greeted, not with a disapproved glare, but rather, with the amused eyes and a hearty chuckle from the young man. His shoulders jumped up and down as he laughed, before he nodded and looked back at her.

"That doesn't seem like anything too much to ask for. Okay." Augustus nodded his head. Molly's eyes widened yet again as he seemed to agree to her wish.

"I thought you had the opinion that pathology was the sort of thing a young lady should not subject herself to." Molly responded, her eyes scrunching in suspicion.

"Well, yes, I feel you'll regret the choice. However, if it is the only thing that will make you happy, it would seem I have no choice but to grant your wish." He answered, giving her a bit of a grin. Molly sat for a moment, the same almost glare on her face. Soon though, a bright and shining smile lit up her face. This seemed to have been a turning point in the relationship between these two young strangers who were meant to marry.

OoOo

The two sides of a former romance went about their lives, both becoming successful in the fields of their choosing. The detective, Scotland Yard's crowning achievement, had even found himself a new friend and assistant. A young man just returning home from the devastation of war, this young partner was a doctor as well, highly successful himself. So, Sherlock had insisted on John Watson to come stay with him at Baker Street. Of course, Mrs. Hudson had been only too delighted for the brooding young man to finally find a person to keep him occupied, and keep the bullet holes away from her walls.

The young lady had excelled at her study, much like Sherlock had predicted she would. In just three years, she had managed to complete the task that took most men in that same field five years to finish. Her betrothed was only too proud of her, and had even insisted that she take up a post in the hospitals of London, the same city where he lived and operated his lands from. With a position becoming conveniently available at one of London's finest institutions, and with the ever increasing need to leave home, she obliged him. She had agreed, with the main objective of getting away from her stepmother in mind. Since her father's passing, the two women had barely spoken, and Molly still despised her for forcing this marriage upon her. The same loathing could not, however, be felt toward the lord. She had come to know him more, and saw him as a confidant, a friend. While she still did not love Augustus, she definitely felt a certain adoration for him. It made the decision to move to the city that much easier.

It was on the eve of her 21st birthday when their paths crossed again.

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K, onto the next chapter! COME ALONG, PONDS!


	8. Chapter 8

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"Miss Hooper, could you please stay a bit late this evening? We had another one just arrive, seems this bout of pneumonia is really taking its toll on the older patients." The older doctor wheeled around the corner, almost knocking Molly down. She brushed her work apron down, smoothing out the obvious wrinkle in it. She then nodded to her superior, and gave him a good smile.

"Sure, that's no problem at all. I assume you'll be having a lovely anniversary dinner with your wife this evening, Doctor Arnold?" Molly asked sweetly. The white haired man nodded and checked his pocket watch for the time.

"Yes, that is the plan. Oh, that will be the plan, if I leave now. Thank you for staying to complete this autopsy, and might I say in advance, have a wonderful birthday tomorrow. Twenty-one, the right and proper age for a young lady to wed." He said absently as he turned. Molly's smile fell just a bit. Yes, she was going to be 21, and yes, she was betrothed. However, she still did not wish to marry Augustus, despite his very charming qualities as a man. She still loved another.

"Oh, I forgot to mention, Miss Hooper. There's a young man who may come in later. He's a bit odd, but has proper clearance. So just, stay out of his way and let him do his thing, alright?" The man peeked his head back around the doorway, delivered his message, and then left just as swiftly. Molly nodded and gave him a smile, before she turned and started to prepare the body before her. She had just cut into the wrinkled chest of the old woman below her, when the door to the morgue flung open. Molly jumped, her hand losing its grip on the sharp scalpel. She bent down to pick it up, watching as a set of beautifully polished shoes walked toward her table quickly. She knew those shoes from somewhere. It was quickly revealed as she heard a voice, his voice.

"Arnold, I need a sample of the lungs. Experiment's sake, man!" Molly felt her heart stop beating, while simultaneously dropping to her feet as the acids in her stomach rose to clutch around her throat. She remained close to the floor, trying to compose herself. She then heard the steps of another enter the room, and that voice rang out.

"Sherlock, why must you always leave me so far behind? You know the issue I have with running." The young man said, his voice ragged with a lack of breath. Molly saw those shoes turn to the new person, and she took the opportunity to rise up from underneath the table.

"I have to hurry sometimes. I knew you'd catch up eventually, John. I really don't see why it matters." She looked at the back of his head, remembering those curls, the feel of that beautifully pale skin under her fingertips. She was willing to silently slip away, just let him take whatever he wanted. However, the other man, a sandy haired and shorter looking male saw her from around the taller companion.

"Oh, hello Miss. Is Doctor Arnold here, by chance?" He smiled at her, and Molly could feel the simple sweetness of his personality shine through. She shook her head and took a breath in, before answering.

"No, he had an anniversary planned with his wife. I can help with whatever you need, though." She offered up a weak smile, continuing to look at the younger man. However, as she spoke, she could see his back straighten, his body becoming stiff and visibly rigid. She lost her breath, her courage leaving swiftly with it. He turned around slowly, those startlingly alert eyes seeking hers out. They were just as mysterious and turning as she had remembered them to be, mixed with a new coldness and thick wall of composure.

"Ah, well then, we will come back another time. Sorry to trouble you, Madame." His voice was just as cold as those eyes, except for an underlying hitch that had caught in his throat, and it spat the words out as if he had swallowed poison. He turned swiftly, brushing past his friend and leaving the room. The blond man looked to the door, then back to Molly, his eyes screwed together in confusion.

"I'm so sorry about him, Miss. He's...well, he can be a bit rude. Please don't take it personally." He bowed politely, before running after his tall friend. Molly was left alone in the morgue, apart from the withered and deceased woman on a slab. She sighed out, her hands splaying across the table to support herself. She had stayed like that for an hour, before finally finishing the autopsy and rolling the woman back to the back room to be processed for burial. She washed up and walked out of the morgue. Her eyes shot up to the clock that stood against the wall. It chimed with the turn of midnight, signifying her birthday had begun. As Molly walked home, she thought on that young man she had loved years ago, that young man she still loved. She hadn't even felt the first tears as they spilled from her eyes. She simply continued to walk through the dark streets of London, wondering what he thought of her, if he thought of her at all anymore.

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Come with me, and you'll be, in a WOOOORLD OF THE NEXT CHAPTER!


	9. Chapter 9

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John rushed out the door after Sherlock, trying desperately to keep up with the detective as he whisked himself away from the doors of the hospital.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell was that all about?" He called out after the man, still attempting to get by his side. The tall man with the blowing black coat slowed until the doctor was at his side, and John finally caught a good look at his face. It held two completely separate, yet slightly codependent looks. One was a look of utter shock, as if he had just seen a spirit. The other, the one that Sherlock was trying to hide, was a look of absolute agony. He wheeled around to his friend, who was now standing deathly still in the middle of the road.

"Sherlock?" John asked after him again, and it seemed to snap the stiff man out of whatever trance he had been in. He shook his head, before looking down to John. He wiped a wide, albeit false, grin on his face, and nodded to his friend.

"I'm fine, John." The response was just as automatic as his facial expression. The good doctor looked back to the hospital that was now blocks away from them, and then looked back to see Sherlock walking toward Baker Street. He decided that perhaps it was something he should ask Mycroft about.

OoOo

Molly had woken the next morning to the sound of the bell to her room ringing. She blearily rubbed her eyes as she wrapped the thick housecoat around her thing frame, and walked across the beautiful Persian rug to her bedroom door. There to greet her, stood the handsome Lord Augustus. He had a wide grin on his face, hands held behind his back. Molly smiled shyly up at him, brushing a tendril of hair behind her ear.

"Good morning, my lovely Molly. Happiest of birthdays, if I might add." He bowed gallantly, and she giggled at the sincerely posh air he held about him.

"Thank you, M'Lord." She tucked her chin down a bit in a tired bow. Augustus's fingertips lifted her face up to meet his gaze. He studied over her tired features, and a worried glow appeared on his own.

"It seems you had a rather stressful evening at that hospital of yours, my dear. Is everything alright?" His thumb grazed her cheek, where the tear tracks had dried themselves in her sleep. She pulled away, not violently or with repulse, but just enough to not have his touch on her.

"I'm fine, M'Lord. Just a bit tired. I'll be better for the party tonight, I promise." Molly answered, her smile growing to a wide grin. This answer seemed to appease Augustus, and he bowed again. He picked her hand up and kissed just across the rise of her knuckles, before placing the limb delicately back at her side.

"Right, well, I'll leave you to your thoughts and to ready for the day. I have some business to attend to, but I will be back this evening in time for your birthday party." He nodded and turned, leaving Molly to return to her bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed, and simply sighed out as she flashed through the memories of her birthdays spent with him.

OoOo

The effects of seeing her again had stopped his thought processes immediately. He had gone to the morgue with the intentions of collecting another sample of the infected lungs of the pneumonia's latest victim. He had not expected to see her there, let alone being the one in charge of the room at that moment. She looked as she had three years ago, if not more beautiful than he last remembered seeing her. He hated her for it. It had taken him the full three years to get to a seemingly normal way of life, one that did not involve his pained thoughts of her betrayal to his once-was heart. Now, after he had thrown himself into case after case, experiment after experiment, she had come dropping back into his life, ruining all of his hard work and focus.

Sherlock had barely heard his flatmate enter the room. Having just shot up with enough morphine to kill a man, he really wasn't surprised. John had come home to find his friend staring off into the darkened space of the room. His usually magnetic eyes were hazy, blurred with the effects of the drug. John had slid the needle from underneath his skin, and tossed it in the bin. Sherlock didn't even acknowledge him. The doctor found himself far too curious as to his friend's odd behavior over the past twelve hours, and knew of the one person who would easily tell him what he wanted to know.

"Oh, hello John. How are you?" Mrs. Hudson chimed from her kitchen as John entered her open flat. He politely knocked first, before shuffling into her living space. The older woman bustled about, cleaning her counter tops.

"Mrs. Hudson, you've known Sherlock longer than I have. Has he ever had any sort of relationship, you know, a young lady, engaged, married, anything?" John asked directly, not really sure how to bring the topic up. Mrs. Hudson's demeanor changed completely. She stopped her scrubbing of the surfaces, and dropped the hard brush from her hand. When she turned to face him, John could see the beginning of such sympathetic tears in her eyes. He wondered if he still wanted to know.

"Oh, oh dear. Perhaps you better come in and have a seat. I'll put the kettle on." Mrs. Hudson ushered him to sit, and shuffled her way back to the kitchen. A few moments later, she returned, tea tray set and ready for serving. She poured and prepared his cup for him, before sitting across from him. When she was all settled in, the woman sighed out, her hand going up to her face to wipe away a tear.

"You see, the first time I met Sherlock, he was a devastated mess. He'd just had his heart ripped out by a young girl. I am not sure about all the details. He never tells me anything, won't talk about it at all. But his brother, Mycroft, had mentioned upon his moving in here, that a young lady had been betrothed to some sort of lord or earl. This same young lady and Sherlock, they had somewhat of a romance, I guess. They had planned to run away together, but she decided to stay with her fiance. The poor boy was ruined. That's about all I know." Mrs. Hudson had finished, her eyes glossy with shining tears as she tried to contain them.

John had been holding his cup up to his lips for the entire story, not having taken a drink at all. He looked up the stairs in the hall, wondering what the young woman from the morgue had to do with this story. He knew the two were linked, but it was just a matter of unearthing the truth. He set the cup of tea down, and promptly stood from Mrs. Hudson's small sofa. He raced to the door, and then ran out to the streets of London, determined to solve this new mystery he found himself wondering about.

OoOo

The day passed quickly, and Molly spent most of it sitting in her personal sitting room, enjoying one of the many books her dear Papa had left her. She had skipped lunch, not feeling hungry when she let herself think about Sherlock. That face he had held when they met again. It turned her stomach to see such disdain. Molly shut the book she hadn't looked at in the past five minutes, sighing in resignation that she wouldn't be reading much now. Her eyes drifted shut, and she wandered through the happier memories between the two entwined hearts of her youth.

OoOo

John strolled into the office of Mycroft Holmes, his mind ready for the answers to a growing list of questions. The older man sat behind his desk, filtering through letters and papers of a questionable nature. John cleared his throat as he stood in the doorway, waiting to be acknowledged. Mycroft looked up, before giving a tight lipped, diplomatic smile. He wordlessly waved him in, and John entered, closing the door behind him.

"Please, John, have a seat." The older Holmes said without looking up. John sighed and did so, looking expectantly at Mycroft. Finally, after a few minutes, he set a small stack of parchment down, and folded his hands in front of himself, before returning his attentions to John.

"What has my baby brother done now? I'm sure it must be fairly urgent, or else you would not have insisted upon seeing me so soon. So, what's happened?" Mycroft asked with imperial intonation. John sighed, before furrowing his brow.

"Well, I was wondering about what happened with Sherlock and a certain young lady a few years ago." He watched as a shocked Mycroft looked up at him sharply. The gaze was ferocious, as well as confused.

"We went to the hospital today, to the morgue. There was a young lady there, and as soon as Sherlock saw her, he left. As if she had the plague or something. What's the connection?" He was stunned to see a very wide eyed, less composed than usual Mycroft Holmes staring back at him. John tilted his head to the side a bit, suspiciously eying the posh politician.

"Did this, young lady, happen to have long, auburn hair, and a nervous sort of smile?" Mycroft was now taking a deep breath in. His hands were poised in somewhat of a prayer position, and his normally critical eyes lie closed behind tight lids. John had never seen the man look stressed before, and it worried him to confirm his suspicions.

"Yes, yes she did. Who is she?" John nodded, having pictured the young woman they met the other day. Mycroft sighed out, sipping from his cup of tea that sat beside his hand.

"Her name is Molly Hooper, and she is the love of my brother's life." John's eyes widened at the words, almost bugging out of his head, before he finally uttered something.

"Bollocks."

Mycroft informed John on the past history of Sherlock and Miss Hooper, the way he had spiraled after their brutal parting. John was, needless to say, a bit more than shocked at the news. His best friend had been in love once, with that lovely young lady, and she had broken his heart. 'That actually explains a lot.' John thought. It was the final piece of information that Mycroft shared though, that made John realize just how severe the situation was.

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The magical, mystery tour, is coming to take you away...COMING TO TAKE YOU AWAY!


	10. Chapter 10

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There was a light knock on her door, and Molly snapped out of her memory. She looked up, in time to see one of the maids entering, a meek expression on her face.

"Um...Miss Hooper? There's a man here to see you. A...a Doctor Watson?" Molly's brow furrowed in confusion and she sat up. She wordlessly gave the maid permission to let the man enter. The young girl opened the door, and a slightly familiar face strode in. Molly's eyes widened just a bit as she met the eyes of a very earnest looking army doctor.

"Hello, Miss Hooper." He bowed politely.

OoOo

Sherlock was currently strolling toward the hospital. He knew what today was, and knew she wouldn't be there. 'Good. Perhaps I can actually get some work done.' He thought to himself. However, upon rounding the corner, just blocks away from the entrance to his second home, the detective knew his agenda had drastically switched. He stood along the side of the bricked wall, peering around the corner to gaze down the alley at the regal looking man. Well, a man who normally appeared regal. Currently, he was a panting, heaving mess, as he kissed and ground into some random skirted female. Sherlock knew his face immediately, and his blood boiled when he could not say the same for the female. He quickly found his feet carrying him, not away from the lovers, but rather, toward them. Upon reaching the quivering weasel of a man, the detective's hand reached out and pulled him away from the young woman. She gasped, turning flush with mortification, while the nobleman grunted and then looked up angrily. As their eyes met, both of the men glared sadistically at each other. The exposed man reestablished himself, and then took to staring intently at Sherlock.

"You." His voice spat out. The man turned and quietly told the female to leave.

"I thought they'd sent you away to some institution somewhere, after your apparent overdose on Opium." Lord Augustus snidely remarked as he turned around. Sherlock's glare only darkened at his words. Augustus squared around, stepping up to him.

"Lord Augustus Houghton. What an unpleasant surprise, running into you. Tell me, is your betrothed aware of your 'business' meetings and other 'excursions'?" Sherlock's voice was imperial as ever, refusing to beat around the bush. A sneer look wiped across the lord's face, and a deep chuckle fell from his lips.

"That silly girl? I'm to marry her this evening, if you'd forgotten. However, she's not batted an eye at me in the past three years of being in my company." He sighed out with resignation, as if it was a huge burden. Sherlock already understood what buttons he was trying to push.

"So you've been getting your spoils elsewhere." Sherlock coldly finished the statement. Augustus smiled crudely.

"Of course, after tonight, I can have her whenever I want. I'll bet she's just ripe for the picking. Well, you'd know. Actually, no you wouldn't, would you?" He was clearly taunting the detective now. Sherlock took in a deep breath, and exhaled as he met the lord's gaze once more.

"Yes, well, congrats to you, then. I hope you'll treat her with more respect after you are married." He watches as Lord Augustus turns to leave through the other end of the alleyway.

"Shall I give her your love? She would accept it gladly, you know. The foolish girl doesn't think I can see how completely besotted she still is with you. You were always getting in the way of what was mine by right. You're still getting in the way. Ah well, that'll change after this evening. Yes, I'll give her your love, after she's received mine." He stops to turn around, to give Sherlock a final look of victory.

As he turned back around, his face was met with a fist. Blood immediately pooled in his nostrils, and he choked on a breath as his hands flew up to his face. Eyes wild and unfocused, he lunged at Sherlock. The two men tackled each other repeatedly, grappling to get a hold on the other. Sherlock was punched in his sides as the earl got the one up on him. That is, until a strategically placed knee sent him curling onto the stone ground beside a breathless genius. Sherlock stood, and brushed himself off, before he looked down.

"She never was yours. She will never be yours, even if you take her and place her in a dark room for all eternity. If she doesn't love you by now, I don't think she ever will. Afternoon, sir." Sherlock turns and exits the alley, his feet swiftly carrying him in a very clear and certain path.

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Allons-y!


	11. Chapter 11

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"And he has no idea? My God, that's...no wonder he seemed off the past few days." John sipped from his cup of tea, shaking his head in disbelief. He sat across the room from Molly, as she did the same. She wiped away the stray tears from her eyes, and tried offering up a weak smile to him.

"So, what are you going to do?" John asked after her. Molly shrugged her shoulders, just the slightest bit.

"What else can I do, Doctor Watson? He won't have anything to do with me, not after I betrayed him so horribly. And I am betrothed to Lord Houghton, a contract that can only be broken if there is a justifiable reason. I'm...well, I'm stuck." She sighed out, rubbing her hands across her face. John leaned over across the small table that sat between them, and offered a gentle pat on her hands. She nodded her gratitude, and smiled sweetly at him. John could see why Sherlock would love her, she was lovely, in every sense. They shared a simple silence, until arguing could be heard from down the hall. Molly looked up at the doctor, then to the door as the hollering sounded closer. John stood up promptly, ready to protect his new acquaintance. Suddenly, the door to her sitting room burst open, and a tall body stood in the frame. John's eyes widened in shock, while Molly gasped at the sight of him.

"John, please allow Miss Hooper and me a moment of privacy." The deep voice spoke. John nodded, before turning to Molly.

"It really was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hooper." He bowed, before offering his hand to her. Molly took it and shook graciously.

"Please, call me Molly. Pleasant to meet you, John." She spoke affectionately of the army doctor already, after one meeting. John passed his friend in the doorway, eying him warily. Sherlock simply bowed to him, before stepping aside so he could leave. Once the door was closed, it left the two former loves to themselves. Sherlock took a few steps into the room, and stopped, simply content to view her again. They were quiet for a long while, before Molly finally couldn't bear it any longer.

"What are you doing here, Sherlock?" She stood watching him, until his eyes shot to hers. Those piercing eyes she had once loved to gaze into. Now, they were icy and deadly to behold. He took another two steps into the room, small, but they made him ever more present.

"I ran into your Lord Houghton in town, just now. He presented some words that I needed confirmation for. I had to come see you to do that. Hence, I am here. The servants at the door are very protective of you, I had to barge past three of them to enter the first hall." Sherlock spoke on official terms, his tone not hinting to a bit of endearing quality. Still, him bursting into her home did make Molly smile fondly. 'That's so like him.'

"And what did he have to say that made you want my confirmation so badly?" She knew what this game was, and knew she had to play along to keep him here. 'At least for a little while. If only just a little.'

"He implied that, though you are engaged to be married, this evening I might add, that you do not hold affections for his lordship." Sherlock spoke again, watching her for any kind of reaction. The only thing he caught was a slight smirk, before her face fell again. His chest lurched as he saw the sadness in her eyes, an ember reigniting more of his hidden heart. The one that had sworn to protect her.

"Hm, and here I thought I was hiding it so well. What he says is true. While Augustus has been very kind and good to me, I don't love him as anything more than a dear friend." She shyly looked up again to meet his gaze. His eyes struck hers fiercely, a crushing wave of blue meeting brown.

"And...do you hold affections, elsewhere?" He asked slowly. Molly looked at him earnestly.

"You know I do, Sherlock. I always have." She spoke, her voice quiet with an attempt to keep her tears at bay. She turned away then, unable to hide the emotion any longer. As she dabbed her eyes, his voice called again. This time softer, and much much closer. She could feel his breath tickle the back of her neck.

"You lied to me, Molly." His voice was barely above a whisper, and she could hear the tortured young man from three years ago in it. It broke every ounce of her being to hear him like this.

"By omission only, to a fact that I desperately wanted to be untrue. Didn't you find it the least bit odd that I wanted to run away as opposed to telling my parents?" Molly chuckled a bit at his statement, hardly surprised that this was the bulk issue for him. She daren't turn around, so utterly terrified of his close proximity to her heart and soul.

"I suppose it was something I overlooked in...the heat of the moment." He mumbled a bit. His breath on the nape of her neck sent shivers down her spine, exactly as it had three years ago. She chuckled softly, her head bobbing side to side as she shook it.

"Sherlock, I still would have gone with you that night, despite what you may believe." Her voice was sad, and the pathologist couldn't help but feel the tears biting at her cheeks now as they fell softly. The air changed around her slightly.

"So run away with me now." His voice grazed the shell of her ear, and Molly found she was without breath. Sherlock was pressed up against her back, his palms earnestly gripping onto her shoulders. She felt the chords of her heart snap at his anguish, and she started to turn. However, the request went unanswered, as Lord Augustus stalked into the room, his face red and hair frazzled. He caught sight of the detective's hands wrapped preciously around his betrothed female. Everything was a bit hazy after that. Molly shrieked out as Augustus launched himself toward Sherlock. The two men fell to the floor with a loud thud. They rolled about, this time Sherlock being the one with the upper hand. He struck blow after blow into the earl's chest, a crack clearing the air each time. Molly was in tears from the surprise, and she called out.

"Stop! Sherlock, stop! You'll kill him!" Her panicked voice cut through him, and his fist seized halfway through another punch to Augustus's ribs. He looked up to see complete fear throughout her features. He stood and dusted down his jacket. Molly took a step toward him, and he retreated.

"You choose to protect a man who would rather associate with common street whores than compete for your affections, or your love. Neither of which he deserves, yet you seem to give it willingly." His voice snapped out at her, causing Molly to tear up. She looked over to a wide eyed Augustus, who was frantically looking between herself and the other man. She gazed back up at Sherlock, to see a look of utter loss and despair in his eyes.

"Sherlock wait! It's difficult to explain. I..." She began to stop him from leaving, prepared to explain why she had asked him to stop. However, as the sorrowful look crept over his face, and he took another step toward the door, bowing his head as he crossed the threshold.

"I see. Well then, I wish you every happiness, Molly Hooper. I'll leave you alone from now on." Sherlock closed the door, and walked quickly out of the flat. John awaited him on the street, pacing back and forth a bit.

"Oh, there you are. I'd wondered what...what happened to you?" His question changed from one to the other upon seeing the rumpled state of Sherlock's clothing and hair. Sherlock stalled for a moment, before he continued walking. When the young lady John was expecting to see did not follow, he turned to his friend.

"Where's Molly?" He asked, looking back at the door. Sherlock seemed to straighten at this.

"Miss Hooper has made her decision. Let's go, John." His voice was deadpanned, quiet. John sighed out as he watched his friend walk away.

OoOo

Molly had been left alone in her room once more. Augustus had gone, readying their wedding ceremony, and leaving her to prepare herself. She stared at her reflection in the large vanity mirror, gazing at the woman in white before her. She felt empty, hollow. Suddenly, in the reflection, was her stepmother. Molly turned around, an immediate frown falling over her.

"What are you doing here?" She asked the woman in the doorway. She walked further in, until she stood directly in front of Molly. Her hair has grayed significantly, and her eyes hold an entirely exhausted look about them as she eyes the bride up and down.

"You look lovely, dear." Came her response. Molly took a step away from her as she tried to pull her into an embrace. A weak smile flickered onto her face, and she pulled an envelope out from the small purse she carried. Molly looked in confusion as she was handed the letter.

"I was going through his study when I found this. The envelope says you aren't to open it until today." The maternal figure stood close by as Molly read over the curled letters on the envelope. Tears had already started pooling in her eyes as she recognized his handwriting. She had to read it.

"Leave." Molly said in a suddenly harsh tone. Her stepmother looked shocked at first, but nodded obligingly. She turned and left the room quickly. Upon hearing the door click shut, Molly ripped open the envelope, and unfolded the parchment to read its contents.

_My dearest Molly,_

_How I wish I would have lived to see this day. It would have brought me such joy to see you marry. However, I wonder if, in my haste to see some of this happiness, I did not forget about what your wishes were. I have thought much on the day your engagement was announced. You seemed so lost after, and it took me ages to sort out why. I had no idea you loved someone else. Had I known, I would have called off the engagement immediately. However, despite my lack of presence today, I hope there is still time for this old horse to fix his mistakes. If you find that you are still not happy or content with marrying Lord Augustus, I pray you will be the stubborn girl I know you to be, and decline the offer. Time can change people, the way we see them. However, I fear that if you were to marry him without it being wholly your choice, you will grow to despise me, even after my death. This is a fact that I simply cannot allow to happen. So again, do not marry the earl if it is not your wish. You will always have my blessing, regardless of the decision you make._  
_With all the love I possess,_

_Your dear Papa_

By the end of the letter, tears were freely flowing down the contours of Molly's cheeks. She clutched the letter to her heart, before lifting it up to kiss the stale ink and paper. Upon doing so, she caught sight of her reflection again. This time, she gazed at the woman before her, trying to find the answer in the eyes of her counterpart. 'Did she want this? Did she want to marry Lord Augustus? Did Sherlock still love her? Would he still want her?'

She sighed out after a few long moments, and nodded at the mirror image. She knew what she would have to do.

OoOo

John had remained silent for the entire journey back to Baker Street, as well as the two hours after they arrived. He simply sat in his easy chair, reading the paper and occasionally eying his friend as he lay stoic on the sofa.

"Sherlock, do you want..."

"No." The reply came quickly, cutting John off midstream. He was going to ask the brilliant man if he wanted tea, and knew that, based on his response, he didn't want anything. John stood up and sighed out, walking toward the door.

"I'll be back later, okay? Give you some space to...think." When all that was uttered in response was a deep intake of breath, followed by a long sigh, John flung his coat over his shoulders, and walked out of the room. Sherlock lay still as death on the sofa, his mind whirring and tearing itself to pieces. 'But I don't want to think. Not anymore.'

OoOo

Molly walked down the aisle, nearing the very pleased, slightly pompous looking lord. He stood at attention, smiling at her as her train glided behind her. Soon, 'too soon', she was by his side. Augustus took her hand in his, and leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"After tonight, we can finally be happy." The statement was vague to her, at first. Then, thoughts of Sherlock and his words came rushing to the forefronts of her mind. It made sense then, what he had said. She hadn't been able to process the information at the time, and only now was her brain letting it sink in.

"Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, we are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the joining of Lord Augustus Houghton and Miss Molly Hooper in marriage. With love and commitment, they have decided to live their lives together as husband and wife." The preacher began the ceremony, his words echoing throughout the grand hall in the Houghton mansion. Molly took a deep breath in, and slowly exhaled it.

"If anyone can find any just reason for these two not to be joined, may they speak now." The old cleric's voice was slightly gruff in quality, gravelly in the way he delivered the challenging statement. The audience was silent. However, after a slight moment, there was a creak heard in the room. People gasped as a hand was raised, a voice calmly speaking out.

"Actually, I do."

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"Well get on it...Continue, my dear."


	12. Chapter 12

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It was dark outside, as well as in 221B Baker street. Sherlock hadn't moved in the past two hours, and John had yet to return from his departure. He merely lay there, still as the grave, trying to dam up the emotional river that rushed through his veins, pumping his heart faster and more erratic than necessary. He hadn't even heard the door to the flat open. He barely heard the sound of shoes walking further into the room. But nothing, nothing could have distracted him from the sound of that voice. Her voice.

"You know, you have a rather nasty habit of walking away from me before I can explain things." He craned his neck to see her standing in the doorway. Light from the hall streamed in around her, and he swore she had never looked so radiant. She stepped in, the train from her white gown slipping over the threshold and on to the wooden floor. Sherlock sat up, his heavy legs dropping to the end of the warn cushions.

"Why are you here?" He asks, without looking up at her any longer. He simply feels numb. Molly slowly makes her way into the room further, her shoes clicking against the wood grain floor. She is now standing in front of him, a few feet away.

"Isn't it obvious, Sherlock? I'm here because I love you." She stands still, waiting for him to answer. His voice, when it does sound, is stoic, almost dead in tone.

"You said it was difficult."

"It was, I was betrothed. The only way to break that arrangement was written consent...which I had. See?" She held out the letter her father had written. Sherlock took it and read it over. His brow furrowed as he looked up at her, confusion plastered on his face.

"I don't under..."

"I didn't marry Lord Augustus. I'm not marrying him. Ever." The smile on Molly's face grows as she watches him look up at her with wide crystalline eyes. He stood, towering over her as he gazed between the letter and her face.

"You...you aren't married? You came back?" He questioned hazardously, not really seeming sure he wanted her answer. Molly nodded her head, before she took a small step forward. However, as soon as she moved, he was moving too. A fiercely swift motion toward her, capturing her in his strong arms. Molly's doe eyes barely saw through the haze of things as his lips came colliding into hers. Molly squeaked in surprise as she felt his lips on her again. This was the end for both of them. Three years of hindered, repressed emotions came spilling out of both of them. She felt like ice and lava to him, entirely too burning for being so cool to the touch, yet he was willing to scorch himself for her. He was lightning and quicksand to her, his touch igniting her and sending shock waves throughout her entire being, all while she slowly sank deeper into his hold. Sherlock kissed every part of her face he could see. His movements were frantic, lavishing her with all the affections he ever held for her. The sound of her short gasps for air only made him hungry for more of her. Soon, they found themselves weaving toward the sofa. He lowered Molly onto the cushions, and took a moment to gaze down at this stunning vision in white. Her eyes were dark, ripples of brown flowing through her irises as she looked up at him.

"This feels familiar." He said in a low voice, causing her to chuckle. Oh, the sonnets he could write about that smile. Sherlock lowered his head down to kiss her again, this time with much more conviction. He took his time as he mapped out her skin with his lips. He kissed down the hollow of her throat, feeling the reverberations of her breaths through her soft flesh. Molly's hands had clutched onto the fabric of his dressing gown, holding him to her bosom. It was when he began kissing his way across the soft slope of her collarbone that he heard the door open once more.

"Sherl..."

"Go away, John!" his voice bellowed against her chest, and he heard his flatmate mutter something about his being 'absolute git'. Molly laughed as she heard the door slam shut, the sound of the doctor's shoes echoing in the stairwell.

"Oh, I feel a bit bad now." She said through her giggles. Sherlock chuckled with her.

"I was interrupted three years ago. I am not about to let that happen a second time." His voice was gruff again, and Molly's laughter turned into a deep moan as a hand found its way up to grip her breast. She arched under his handling of her body, whimpering and purring as his hands wrapped all around her. He leaned up again, after having kissed his way over the beautiful silk gown that covered her chest, to whisper in her ear.

"Do you have any intention of wearing this particular gown again?" His voice growled heatedly into the shell of her ear, and Molly could make out the difficulty that his breaths came with.

"No...wh...oh. Oh my." She was starting to question him, when a clever grin smoothed over his perfect lips, and his strong hands, such strong hands, ripped down the center of the heart shaped panel of the front of her wedding dress. She gasped and let out a strangled hum as he proceeded to rip the rest of the gown. The torn seam eased further apart, until her undergarments were revealed for him. By society's standards, she was improperly dressed. Her creamy pale skin was not covered by a corset, and she was not covered with anything but her underwear and brassiere. The hidden rebellion only served as example to why Sherlock loved this woman so much. Molly slid her arms through the sleeves and immediately went to work on his clothing. Their lips worked against each other, kissing the very air out of their lungs. Once he was shed of his dressing robe and shirt, the pathologist began her study of the detective's body. He hissed with want as her fingernails scratched his skin.

"Molly...Oh my dear Molly." His voice was airy as she kissed her way across the sharp collarbone that ridged up under his flesh. She gasped a bit as she felt him grow hard against her thigh, the smooth material of her gown grazing her legs as she moved underneath him. Curiously, she found a hand slipping further down his chest, grazing over his stomach, until it hit the button on his trousers. A deep growl emitted from somewhere in his throat, and Sherlock bucked against her wandering hand. He suddenly couldn't wait any longer. A shaky and fumbling hand unbuttoned his trousers, and Sherlock only stood long enough to push them and his pants down his long legs. Molly felt herself lick her lips wantonly as she gazed at him in the dark room. She stood, joining him in the center of the living room. Sherlock smiled at her as she slowly lifted the bra above her long hair. It cascaded back down, falling gently over her now bare shoulders. Molly bit her lip as she sucked in a breath, slowly working her bloomers over her hips, and down her legs. After she was equally bare, Sherlock offered her his hand, which she took gently. He pulled her to rest flush against his chest, caressing her cheekbone with kisses, and allowing his hands to splay over her back. He eventually kissed down her neck, and across to her shoulder.

"Please Sherlock, I don't want to wait for you any longer. Three years is far too long." Molly whispered into his throat. Sherlock chuckled a bit, before pulling her behind him toward his bedroom. As he laid her down on the luxurious bed, He immediately kissed her lips again, while squaring up himself up with her entrance. Molly nodded her consent, and Sherlock eased into her. They both moaned; Sherlock, from the pure heaven he found himself dipping into; Molly, from the pressure it caused on the rest of her muscles as he filled her. She let out a whimper, causing him to stall.

"Mmmolly?" His eyes were clamped shut tightly, but the insecurity in his voice told her what he was asking.

"I...I'm okay. Just...just, mm. Just go slow." She breathed out as she tried to gain back some of her composure. Sherlock nodded his head, eyes still shut. He pulled back out, just a bit, before slowly rocking further into her. He felt her break around him, and he could hear her trying to suppress a cry. It made him come back to reality, if only a bit. He looked down at her, and smiled as she gazed back up at him with big brown eyes. Sherlock wiped away a tear that had started to fall down her cheek. She smiled, and chuckled a bit at her own physical reaction. They were still, until Molly started wriggling underneath him. The slight rocking that she provided was enough to cause herself to give off a soft moan, which in turn drew one from the man above her. Sherlock nodded his head slowly, and rocked into her again. He began the process again, pulling out, before easing into her once more. The first few times Molly gave an almost scornful whine, not used to the sensation. However, a few more gentle thrusts, and her moans transformed into quite a different sound, one of pure need. A need for him. A need for more. He, of course, obliged her willingly. They moved together clumsily, each one trying to possess the other fully.

It was over quite quickly. Sherlock's grunts and growls of pleasure had filled the room, far more than her soft purrs and whimpers of ecstasy. He thrust into her with reckless abandon, as if he wanted to connect their souls together through the physical act. When all was done, he collapsed atop her, sighing out into her bosom with a tired breath. Molly followed the sigh with one of her own, a sigh a pure, blissful contentment. A soft hand pushed away a sweaty curl from his forehead, while the other one traced loving and gentle patterns over the slope of his shoulder blade. Eventually, they moved further up on the bed, Sherlock wrapping his arms protectively around her. Molly nuzzled into him, so that there was not a part of them that was separated. She had just started to drift off into sleep.

"Happy Birthday, Miss Hooper." He muttered into her hair. She hummed happily, before giving over to the clutches of sleep. However, her lover stayed awake for several minutes after, simply staring down at the lovely lady he held in his arms. The one he secretly vowed to never leave again.

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Welp, that's it...for now. MWAHAHAHAHA! lol, not maliciously, though. Just a lovely epilogue that I will post later in the week. Happy Easter! I hope you have enjoyed it so far!


	13. Chapter 13

**Just a reminder: I do not own anything that is already credited to BBC, Moffat, Gatiss, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, or his estate, or anyone else affiliated with the likes. Enjoy the final installment of **

**YEARS AND TEARS: EPILOGUE**

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Yet another three years had passed. Molly arose from her deep sleep. She had attempted to sit up, but was immediately pulled back down to her spot beside the shirtless man next to her. Molly giggled helplessly as she was drowsily kissed over and over again. Sherlock's curls bounced and dragged across her forehead as he smothered her in affection.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, let me up." Molly said between her fits of laughter. A throaty chuckle resounded from him, and his grip on her loosened slightly.

"No, I think I shall keep you in bed with me all day. After all, I am the head of this household, you would be wise to follow my recommendations." Sherlock said with a fake posh sound in his voice. Her nose crinkled as she made a false expression of disgust.

"As much as I would like that, Mr. Holmes, you know we can't." She leaned over, kissing him quickly, before she crawled out of the bed they shared. Sherlock watched her with both wonder and amusement as she made her way around the room, readying her dress for the day. The growing orb that was her stomach protruded from her middle, and she made her best efforts to work around it. Head propped up on his hand, the consulting detective simply observed his lovely wife as she managed to pull the dress down and over the bump, covering it with the extra yards of fabric of the skirt. After she had dressed, she sat on the side of the mattress, obviously out of breath. He moved to sit behind her now, and trailed small kisses down the exposed nape of her neck. Molly sighed out, her head tiredly dropping to let him continue up her neck and into her hairline.

"Is it today then? I hadn't realized it was here already." Sherlock said with a bit of a smirk. Molly elbowed him in the gut, earning a small grunt.

"Yes it is. Just the same as last year, and the year before that." She spoke. Soon, the doors to their bedroom were being flung open. Molly and Sherlock both looked up, in time to see the small curls of their son racing toward them. A wide grin was plastered on his face, and he jumped up to be on the bed with them.

"Good morning, my boy. I trust you slept well?" Sherlock ruffled the matching black curls of the smaller version of himself. The little boy nodded his head eagerly.

"Yes, yes I did. Hap-birtay, Mummy!" He said as he enthusiastically gave her kisses all over her face. Molly laughed and pulled him closer, to return the kisses. He giggled and shook his head back and forth in a sort of protest.

"And a happy birthday to you too, my dear Gregory. Are you excited for your party tonight?" She asked as she nuzzled into his cheek. Gregory nodded quite prominently, as if he had any clue what his party would be like.

"Our party, Mummy. Is your birtay, too!" He poked into her shoulder, before dropping his face down to sit level with her belly. He placed a gentle kiss on it, and then kept his lips there. Sherlock and Molly both watched as the small child whispered quietly to the area.

"What are you doing, Greg?" Sherlock asked curiously. His eyebrow was quirked, and he wondered what possible answer the three year old had to offer. As if taking the mannerism from genetic encoding, little Gregory sighed out in impatience.

"I'm tellin' baby what I got Mummy for her birtay, Daddy." His own eyebrows were high on his face, as if to say 'isn't it obvious?' Sherlock laughed along with Molly, who was biting her lower lip in an attempt to stop the joyous tears from spilling from her eyes.

Soon, the boy leaped from the bed, and ran to the door again. Sherlock stood to follow, having promised his son that he would help him to wrap Molly's present. Before he left, he turned and lowered his lips to hers. He held her there, hand gripping the back of her head and tangling in her hair, until she became breathless. A wicked glint in his eye told her she would be enjoying a present from him later, long after the party had ended and Gregory was safely tucked away in his room. As Sherlock reached the door, he turned back around, and smiled at her.

"Happy Birthday, my dearest Molly Holmes." Molly watched him go, and sighed happily to herself. She went to the window, watching as the bleak, grey skies of London passed overhead. 'Happy birthday, indeed.' She thought, feeling the baby inside her kick with glee.

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And there we have it! That ends this particular tale. I thank you all so much for the encouragement I received while writing this story. I'm so glad you all enjoyed it! I just want to do a shout out to all the wonderful reviewers I had on this project!

**4UISUNI2, 221silentwordsnotspoken, Adi-who-is-also-Mou, Alex455, Anasthesia93, Aviatress, Benedict-addict Holmes, Beth-Taurichick, Ccazzzy, CerysWinter, Chaffy13, Colorful Magic, Cordelia123456, CreamoCrop, Deep-within-the-Labyrinth, DoctorHolmes121, Doctor WTF, Empress of Verace, EnchantingErika, Freewaygirl, Girl Of Chaos, Hallaanduneiel, Heather1471, Hot4Neville, Howling Shadow, Hush08, Ianthe Eileithyia, , Icemask511, Idle Writer of Crack, Imaginex01, KT-ROM, KimikoSenpai94, KittyShack, Lady Blackwolf, Lady Krystalyn, LadySolitaire83, LaserGirl77, Lenuca, Liberi Ad Somnia, Ligya Ford-Northman, LilBookworm89, LilyAnthea, LilyIsMilesAway, LittleMissMia123, Lono, LuvStory, MadAsAHatterJayy, MandolinLea, MoonlightDisco, MrsBadcrumble18, Nobodycouldbethatclever, OddOneOut-16, OffbeatUpbeat, Ohhitsloveee, Pojo-san, Potix, RegenbogenLolly, Renaissancebooklover108, Rocking the Redhead, SammyKatz, ShareBearTheDeathBear, Sherloky, Sherlolly-221B, SilmarwenCaran, Snarkland78, StayTheSame, TenthRegeneration, TheLurkingDarkness, ThefadingdaysofMay, ThetaSigma14, TimeyWimey11, Unicorn Lady, Waterbender89, Yjk, YoungCardinals, Yulya18, abbyroxs100, actressen, apedarling, avatardsherlockian, barus, beba98, blind-bandit95, booklover669, butterflywings27, cattney, chaoticmom, christy7434, creativelywitty, crooney83, darrenlove16, dietplainlite, doubledouble, dulciwik, flavialikestodraw, geranium08, ginganinja1999, hagiga, harasvin, hermione-amelia-rose1479, hollyxsuicide, hopefulemily, ilovegoodhistorys, jesszco, kateruny, , kaytianna, laroka, listrant, loretta loves sherlock, lostaunau11, magicstrikes, maharet97, , musicchica10, mythlover20, nhaquyen, orangesherbert06, rin2004, sailorbebe, secretsunion, semul, soulseekersfindpeace, stacelf, starshortcake, strawberry hills, suki2618, susieqsis, theuniqueartistictype, travellady77, varjaks, worlds-consulting-detective, zuzu7887...And I am sure I probably missed a bunch of you, but dude, it's hard writing down names that involve numbers too**...and there's so many of you. HOLY CRAP! Anyway, I really just wanted to thank you all so much for reading and commenting when you can, and just, in general, being such an amazing support system for me. It truly means the world to me, and, I hope you realize how much I love each and every one of you. BECAUSE IT'S A LOT! A LOTTA LOVE!

Finally, I would just like to give special thanks to **Lasergirl77**, of whom without, this story would not exist. She gave me this prompt, and I can only hope that I did a fraction of justice to what she was after. Thanks lovely!

Alright, now to go work on other stuff! See you next fic! Oh, and PLEASE! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE go read my other stuff? :D Please?


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